


A Game of Admittance

by Cyntax_Error



Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: Alcohol, Background Relationships, Banter, Cozy feel, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Funny, Mutual Pining, POV First Person, Pining, Romance, Six knuckleheads want to have a good time, Smut Mention, They essentially play 20 questions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28539831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyntax_Error/pseuds/Cyntax_Error
Summary: The Ashen One contemplates why they have affections for Patches, but comes to realize they may be mutual over a nosey game, alcohol, and friends around the bonfire.
Relationships: Ashen One/Unbreakable Patches (Dark Souls), Orbeck of Vinheim/Sirris of the Sunless Realms
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	A Game of Admittance

**Author's Note:**

> From my one-shot series “Oh, Patches” that I’ve decided to publish stand-alone.

What a homely face. No one in high regard looked the way he did, and even if they did, they had enough manners to hide away their looks beneath a mask. Never before had you come across a creature to look of such low birth - even the twisted, hollowed undead possessed enough duty within them to come across as sadly charming. Not him, no, for his only duty was to himself. He was selfish, thus making him horrendous inside and out.

Or so you tried to convince yourself.

He wasn’t ugly. Perhaps odd looking; resembling that of an albino animal than an infamously revolting mythical creature. He wasn’t of low birth - well, nothing proved that, anyway. If he were, you knew there was nothing wrong with that. As for being selfish, well, that was really the only truthful thing you echoed in your head.

You wished you could say he possessed astronomical hubris, but he was too smart for that. He knew of his extents, such as the first time you threatened him. He wore leather, mostly, but he was taller than you and wider. He was lean, but not scrawny, and he was strong to wield a giant shield and giant weapon, but the armour you wore then was roughly two sizes too large and did well to mask your actual stature. Fooled by this, he backed down and offered a flimsy apology for putting your life at risk.

By all accounts, you should despise the treacherous bastard. So… why didn’t you?

You were cold to him at every turn. It didn’t matter how sweet he acted, or how genuine his questions came across, you remained as silent as you possibly could and paid him no ounce of warmth. He didn’t deserve it, anyhow. Any sane person would accept your inhuman demeanour, but not him. He still pressed on; each encounter he pushed the boundary with his incessant affection. It was almost as if he could smell your weakness, and was simply waiting for your persona to falter.

You thought about this as you sat near the bonfire in the shrine. A few people you befriended joined you and chatted merrily as they drank their tankards of alcohol - graciously provided by Siegward, who paid a visit. Siegward, Greirat, Sirris, Orbeck, and yourself, sat and chatted. This was also the first time you decided to shed your armour and rest in a set of leather that actually fit you, in the presence of others. It was a bit of a surprise that this Unkindled didn’t live up to the larger-than-life appearance you fronted with, but in this current company, you figured it was safe to be truthful with them. Everyone else who wore bulky armour or face-obscuring pieces, removed them as well.

Amidst friendly revelry, you couldn’t keep your mind off the man you’d fallen for. As fate would have it, either by holy or malicious force you were uncertain of, Patches decided himself fit to join your little group.

You nearly choked on your mead when he strolled up and declared himself a fellow ruffian.

“This circle is for pleasant company.” Sirris had no qualms telling him off from the lip of her mug. Her freezing, steely glare could shoot icicles through the soul of just about anymore.

“Come now,” Greirat vouched for Patches. “he’s not nearly as bad as the infamy that precedes him.”

“Thank you, mate.” Patches laid a hand across his chest and took his seat beside the scavenger, and straight across from you.

“We have a rule in Catarina.” Siegward said as he reached behind him for his sack, and revealed a large canteen and an extra tankard he passed off to Patches. “One’s true self comes out with the help of a cup of joy, so one should toast with their enemies and friends!” He filled Patches’ tankard, and he gladly took a gulp.

“This Catarina,” Orbeck inquired, surely as a way of dismantling the awkward air. “it sounds awfully friendly. Marvellous, even. Would you regale us with stories of your land?”

“I would be most honoured.” Telling by Siegward’s tone, it seemed he was just waiting for someone to ask about his home.

You kept your eyes fixed on Siegward as he told the story of how a group of knights started their day attending a breakfast gathering, and ended it slaying a few drakes, all the while drunk. Throughout the story, you couldn’t help but glance toward Patches. He seemed to be enjoying the re-telling. Little did you know he was shooting looks your way, too.

“But you, Orbeck. You’re from Vinheim! Why don’t you tell us a bit about that.” Siegward started the trend of each person talking about their respective homelands. It went around the circle, until it came to you.

You didn’t talk much. Not because you didn’t like to, but you preferred to listen, and if there was one thing you learned so far with your journey, it was that an eager mouth would certainly spill secrets. Thus, you remained quiet about details. That didn’t stop you from befriending people, however.

“Tell us about your land, my liege.” Sirris, your voluntary knight, bumped shoulders with you.

“My land?” You reiterated, quietly. You hummed in thought for a moment. Details of that life were little, but what little you knew, you had no problem divulging.

“And… what of you, Patches? Where are you from?” You forced your tone to remain neutral.

Patches, much like yourself, hummed in thought. It took him a little longer than you to recollect details, or make them up. “Why, I’m from Carim. I’m sure you lot could tell from my prominent looks.” He gave a cheeky grin and gestured to his nose, pulling a chuckle from Siegward. Patches certainly could be charming when he wanted to be. “I haven’t been in a long time, so the details are fuzzy. Sorry,” he shrugged. “but you’d be better off asking that gargoyle bloke.”

The keen Orbeck could see through his guise, much like you could. “Alright, then,” Orbeck began. “why don’t you tell us about your childhood? Or better yet, how you came across a most unusual name.”

Patches lifted a brow. “You think I’d have a better memory of being a runt than I would the place I’m from? As for my glorious name,” he lifted a gloved finger up to his lips, and smiled. “that’s a secret, through and through.”

“Well there must be something of equivalence you can offer us.” Orbeck leaned back to rest against the first step of the surrounding stairs. He took a sip from his tankard. “Don’t make me ask something childish.” He threw a grin at Patches.

“Childish?” Greirat tittered. “I’m not above asking childish questions. I think we’re all due an answer, wouldn’t you say, Lady Sirris?”

“I would be so inclined to agree.” Sirris nodded her head. “And you, Sir Siegward?”

Siegward, mid drink, gulped back his mouth full of mead. “We’ve all divulged a little piece of ourselves. It’s not outrageous to request the same, wouldn’t you say, old boy?” He shot his rhetoric question back towards Patches.

But not one to falter under pressure, Patches drank from his tankard then asked in a light tone, “What’s this? Are we all school kids again?”

Greirat shrugged, then smoothed back the frizz of his silver hair. “Why not? I wouldn’t mind revisiting my youth again. They were better times.” He swished around the shallow mead in his tankard. “Hm. I’m nearly out.”

“I have your solution, friend!” Siegward tossed the large canteen over the fire for Greirat to catch.

“I believe, since our dear Ashen One proposed the question in the first place, she should be the one to ask again.” Orbeck spoke up. All eyes were now upon you.

Your mind blanked. “When… um, when was the… last time you… lied?”

Nearly everyone groaned in unison.

“That’s a terrible question, my liege.” Sirris chuckled from beside you, now lounging back against her elbow.

You rolled your eyes. You took another sip from your tankard and thought about the childish things you had roaming through your mind. You didn’t dare look at him, not when those childish questions turned to ones of sexual nature. You were ever so thankful for the intense warmth causing everyone’s cheeks around you to flush, just as yours were.

“If… If you could correct one mistake you made, at any point in time, what would it be?”

No one moaned at your question, and everyone remained silent, awaiting Patches’ response. He took a sip from his cup, then humph’d. “A lifetime ago, I let this bird use her spells on me. I was in a tight spot, but it didn’t work, so I died,” he gestured to himself, forcing a shit-eating grin on his face. “and became the lovely vision you see before you. This was before all you undead were a dime a dozen, ‘course.”

Patches found himself dry of alcohol, and gestured for Greirat to hand over the canteen.

“Why would it matter, if you were going to die anyway?” Sirris asked from her spot around the bonfire. The clouds outside slowly turned a dark grey, as day shifted into night.

“Ah-ah!” Patches wagged a finger at the woman dressed in startlingly white cloth and silver adornments. “One question at a time, eh? I never got to ask anyone my own.” Patches refilled his cup, before going on to speak. “You, Ashen One. Why’re you so cold and quiet all the time?”

The spotlight was back to you - but this time, you didn’t feel so on the spot. You had an answer, and one that wouldn’t reveal too much to allow anyone, especially Patches, to break you.

“Everyone possesses a weakness. I have my own. To remain quiet and distant is to protect myself from my weaknesses.” You answered plainly.

You cleared your throat, and shifted tones. “Orbeck. Who among us would you like most to see nude?”

Siegward spat out the mead he had in his mouth from mid-drink. “By the gods…!” He cursed to himself, but your sudden outlandish question caused most everyone else, excluding Orbeck, to erupt in laughter.

Orbeck’s already red cheeks reddened to a deeper shade all across his face. “...Would now be a good time to confess that I’m a narcissist?”

His response only fuelled the laughter. Orbeck winced and rubbed at his neck in an embarrassed fashion. “If… I am being honest,” he began slowly. “I would say Lady Sirris.”

Before she reacted, Orbeck hurried along. “Alright, alright. Greirat; one to ten, how would you label Sir Siegward’s attractiveness?”

But Greirat was able to play along nicely. “My, with such a finely groomed moustache? Ten, without a doubt.”

Greirat then inquired about Sirris, who then inquired about Siegward, who then inquired about Patches, and so on and so forth. Through the night, the alcohol remained flowing, and it wasn’t the fire that warmed everyone up inside. You continued to casually make eye contact with Patches from across the bonfire throughout the night, and neither were you terribly subtle with your provocative questions towards one another.

“What colour of underthings are you wearing?”

“What is your most pressing fear?”

“Who in this room would you rather kiss?”

“Who in this room would you rather kill?”

“When was the last time you stumbled across love in this barren world?”

Questions like that carried on through the night, growing more and more silly as the drinks kept flowing.

At some point, in your now tipsy haze, you had switched spots with Orbeck, allowing him to lounge beside Sirris. You were now wedged between Orbeck, to your left, and Greirat, to your right. The two pale, dark haired ones were so enraptured with conversation that it left you, Siegward, Greirat, and Patches, to chat amongst yourselves.

“I must say,” Siegward started, only slightly slurring his words, “your company has been one of delight! I really didn’t think it would be possible, old boy.”

“Might I say the same!” Patches clapped Siegward’s back in a friendly way. “Grievances behind us; you’re an alright lad.”

“Shall we keep the game going?” You asked from the lip of your mug. “The lovers over there seem far too busy to join us.” The four of you made eyes at Orbeck and Sirris, nearly nose to nose in conversation, and not able to hear the outside world.

“I’m game.” Greirat said. “Ashen One, what is one thing you wish you could unsee?”

“Oh gods,” you muttered, before deciding on an answer. “Siegward’s bare moon down in the well.”

Siegward threw back his head and laughed. “It is rather pale, isn’t it?” You laughed along with him. Slowly through the night, as you drank more, that tight hold you had on yourself became undone.

“Siegward,” you prompted him, then wiggled your eyebrows at him. “you handsome man, have you ever found the warm comforts of another person in these lands?”

Siegward shyly chuckled. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.” This pulled a laugh from you, and overall confirmed your question. “Patches! Tell us, is there anyone you currently adore?”

Everyone’s eyes landed on the pale bald man with a flushed complexion. He took another drink from his mug. “Yes, yes there is.” He didn’t necessarily sound dismissive, but hesitant. “Greirat, friend, when was the last you enjoyed the gentle touch of a man?”

Greirat touched his face in a bashful way. “Oh, not for some time. Not these old bones. Ashen One,” it was your turn again. You answered Greirat’s silly question, then directed yours back to Patches.

“Patches,” you said. “who is this person you’re smitten with?”

“Truthfully?”

“Presumably, we’ve all been truthful.” Siegward chimed in.

“Alright.” Patches lifted his look from his mug up to your gaze. The clash of light from the bonfire against the darkness swarming the shrine cast deep shadows across his face. “Our dear Ashen One.”

Your heart pricked painfully in your chest…. was it painful? You weren’t sure, but whether it was your heart racing or the anxiety knocking against your ribcage, Patches’ admittance set you off.

He tilted his head, and gave you a smile. You weren’t sure if it was meant to be a slimy smile or a keen one. It was hard to tell with him. “Ashen One, who is it now that you love?”

You looked at the drink in your mug. It lightly sloshed in your mug from your shaky grip. “Hm… I- It would have to be you, Patches the trickster. Only the gods know how that happened. I certainly don’t.” You mumbled the last bit, barely loud enough for anyone to hear, and took a drink from your mug.

“Trickster!” Patches whistled in appraisal. “Now why-“

“Siegward,” you interrupted Patches. “were you married once before?”

“Indeed, I was. But oh, Greirat,” he called to the scrawny scavenger across the way. “won’t you warm the spot next to me? It’s grown awfully cold without Lady Sirris beside me.”

“I think I’ll do just that.” Greirat stood from his spot and tip-toed around Patches. “Excuse me, friend.” He planted himself right between Siegward and the infamous Patches, forcing him to scoot your way.

Mentally, you cursed Greirat for leaving you. You weren’t sure if it was all the drink everyone had, or the lulling warmth of the fire, but Patches casually leaned back against his arms that propped himself up, and found yourself within his arm span. He didn’t move, or draw attention to it. Rather, he reveled in the proximity to you, and you did tenfold.

“Is anyone in need of a top up?” From behind him, Siegward revealed an unopened canteen.

-

You listened to the deeper voices that circled around you in the dark. With your eyes closed, you leaned back against something solid and warm, taking in the slow, steady spinning of your world. You were never much of a drinker. The only times you partook was during special occasions, which were growing few and far between. Even then, it was only a mug. You were on your… fifth? Sixth, perhaps?

Then the thing you leaned against seemed to speak. It rumbled and lightly shook with every word it seemed to form. It felt as though the thing- person, you leaned against was in banter with other people.

A touch spooked you from your languid dreams. A hand gently touched the surface of your forehead.

“Lads, seems our Ashen One can’t hold her drink well. This one nearly fell asleep!” Patches chuckled, as did Siegward and Greirat.

You could feel his laugh reverberate in his chest. It felt nice - almost soothing. You opened your eyes fully, to find the two lovers were fast asleep against each other, Siegward and Greirat had scooted closer to where you sat, and Patches… You shifted your head, to find yourself nestled between his legs and huddled up to his chest.

You were certain you turned a vibrant red, head-to-toe with how intensely you felt heat burn up inside you. You crawled away, all the while chuckling, and said, “Oh, I- I must have dozed off.”

Quickly you crawled to a spot wedged between Greirat and Patches. Just as you sat, you remembered you didn’t have your tankard with you.

“Where-“ The vision of Patches holding your tankard up silenced you. He offered it to you, with a wink and a charming smile he laid on thick. You took it, feeling your fingers overlap his for a moment, and sipped what little it had left. “Thank you,” you mumbled quietly into your mug.

“Not a problem at all, my love.”

You averted your eyes from him. His language was no different than how he usually came on to you. He was always openly flirtatious, but you had thought that was his way of buttering you up into buying things from him, and fetching him trinkets. It was his physical proximity to you, that you noticed, was more brazen. He didn’t dare touch you so willingly, but just this night alone you slept contently against him with his arm comfortably around you.

“None of us will fault you for sleeping.” Greirat stretched his arms above in his and released a deep yawn. “I’m nearing retirement, as well.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” You waved your hand and flashed a small smile. At this, Greirat made a gasp in awe.

“O’ Ashen One, I’ve never seen that look on your face before. Perhaps we should feed you alcohol more often.” He snickered, causing your already warm cheeks to burn.

“I- I smile!” You exclaimed with an offended tone, at first. “Sometimes.”

“Not nearly enough, methinks.” Patches leaned closer to waggle a brow at you. You scoffed and gave him a playful shove.

“Ironic, coming from someone who makes it his duty to be the thorn in everyone’s side.” You nearly hissed at him.

“Please,” Patches laid a hand against his chest. “who else would set you lot free of your arrogance? It’s all in jest, so long as you don’t die - ain’t that right, old boy? No bad blood between us, eh?”

Siegward slumped forward with his head lolled to the side, peacefully snoring. Patches’ sly smile faltered into a tired look.

“Well then. I’m sure he’d agree if he were awake.”

You hummed. “Right, yes, and it does nothing but help your case, that the only person who thinks highly of you is awake.”

“‘Highly’ is too generous, I’d say.” Greirat quipped.

“What? You don’t think highly of me? Come on,” he attempted to coerce you with a deep, sweet tone. “you just admitted you love me.”

“It’s-!” Your voice failed you. You coughed, much to the pleasure of Patches, who was enjoying your flustered display. “Not- Not often does one actually have a choice in who they’re infatuated with. It’s purely by chance.”

“Is it?” The look he was currently giving you, eyes squinted and smile so slimy, you wanted nothing but to punch him square in the face. “Last I was sure, there’s usually a requirement.”

“Well,” Greirat spoke up and stood from his position in the ash. He stretched. “I’ll leave you two alone. I grow tired, and my eyelids cannot remain open for long.”

You called out quietly for Greirat as he made his way to one of the stairs leading down further into the shrine. “Wait, Greirat-“

He threw his arm up in a lazy wave, and called back, “Goodnight, you two.”

It was then you were officially alone with him. Not physically, since Orbeck, Sirris, and Siegward snooze just nearby. You took a sip from your tankard again, refusing to acknowledge the man beside you. It was the feeling of his heavy stare that made you speak up.

“You don’t have to act sweet to me, if there is something you wish. That… foolish talk of love won’t get you anywhere. Just come out and say whatever it is you’re after.” You whispered from beside him. You tried to remain quiet, as to not wake your slumbering companions or disturb those who would stay awake for days on end.

Patches chuckled darkly. “Figured me out, have you? Alright - down to it.” Patches moved closer to you, so that his right arm reached across you too lean in close. “I am besotted - nay, enamoured, of you. Smitten doesn’t nearly cut that painful stinging in my chest.”

His sudden confession threw you for a loop. You placed your tankard down somewhere in the ash to move your body and look up into his eyes. “This is unlike you.” You simply said.

“I know, I know.” He gave you a weak laugh. “I don’t feel quite like myself.”

Fear pitted itself in your stomach. In your tipsy haze, you reached up towards his face. “Are you…?” You looked into his eyes, but found no hint of darkness. His cheek beneath your fingertips still felt warm and smooth. “You’re not hollowing… are you?”

“Me? Unbreakable Patches, hollow? Why, those are contradictory statements, my beloved.” He placed a hand over yours and fell further into your touch.

“So there’s nothing you want out of me?”

“There is. There’s quite a number of things, in fact. All of which you can offer me, without a single soul.” He removed your hand from his cheek, keeping it in his own, and leaned forward to breath against your neck. He pulled you closer into his hold. “For starters, I want information. When did you fall for me, love?”

Feeling his hot breath against your sensitive skin made you shiver. “Ah… perhaps, some time ago, I heard you laugh. It wasn’t one of your villainous laughs. It sounded so nice, so real, I felt my chest ache.”

“And you’ve been nothing but a smitten kitten after that, eh. Had no idea my charms worked on you.” You felt the soft, smooth surface of his lips kiss up along your neck, slowly, to your jaw. You closed your eyes and moaned so quietly, you barely heard yourself. “What an irresistible treat you are. I spied you, time ago, removing your helmet to show your true face. I hadn’t any idea you were a little woman beneath all that plate. It was your cold and witty behaviour that won me over.”

You whimpered as you felt his teeth lightly rake across your skin. He spoke quickly after, before you had time to react to his words.

“Why don’t we take this to a secluded perch? I’ve got all manner of linen throws and pillows I… well, I imagine I’ll not be selling anytime soon.”

“But it’s so warm near the fire…” you whined.

Patches quietly laughed that same laugh you fell in love with. “Never fear, I’ll keep you nice and warm, my darling.”


End file.
